


i've got what you want (i've got what you need)

by swallowedsong (bookstvnerdlove)



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, also: praise kink, whenever he calls her ma'am i think dirty thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6502150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstvnerdlove/pseuds/swallowedsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he likes the sound of her voice, soft and breathy, harsh and cracking, always drowning in pleasure. she likes his single-minded intensity, all directed on her, quiet and still. it makes her want to dig underneath and find the frenzied madness underneath. basically, pwp. </p>
            </blockquote>





	i've got what you want (i've got what you need)

Eventually it’s his stillness that gets to her. The feeling that he could sit there and watch her forever, in that plush chair that she found on the side of the road. The same chair that he helped carry into her apartment, the bill of his baseball cap tugged so low, chin down. 

“You might want to disinfect that, ma’am,” he told her. Voice low and gravelly, his true self still in hiding. 

(He’ll always be in hiding, most likely.)

“I told you to stop calling me ma’am,” she replied in a huff, despite the way the sound of it curls around her, digs under her skin. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t mean it, now did you?” He sounded all cocksure and arrogant for the briefest moment. Then a softer, “Yeah,” when she didn’t contradict him. 

...

“Are you ready yet?” He asks her later, mouth on her breast, sucking her nipple so hard that her back bows off the bed, the arch only giving him more, better access to making her fall apart. 

He’s been at it for what feels like hours. Tongue tracing every patch of bare skin, that dip above her collarbone, the curve of her neck. Even when she wants more, wants it harder with the drag of teeth across skin, he doesn’t give it to her. No, he’s so gentle like this. (At first, that is.) So gentle as his mouth travels down her belly and swirls around the indent of her belly button. As it travels further south, curling around her clit before his tongue dips inside her. 

So gentle as he moves down, down, down the length of her legs to the arches of her feet. And then, even more slowly, as he works his way back up to her center, chuckling at the whine that comes from the back of her throat as he skips over that warm, wet place oh so deliberately. 

“What was that?” He asks when her lips open to form an answer, but no words come out, only the gasping moan as he switches to her other breast and and does that same sucking pull. 

...

He once told her that he likes the sound of her voice. When they were lying, legs tangled together in bed, the sweat from their bodies making them stick together. (Neither of them cared, much.) The words come out as a mumble, as if he’s embarrassed at how much he likes is, the sound of her voice urging him, telling him how much she likes what he does to her. 

And she remembered it, that night, as she closed her eyes, knowing that as soon as she drifted into sleep he’d be gone. From her bed, from her life, until he deigned to make another appearance. She remembered the way his dark eyes got even darker the first time she said to him, “It’s so good,” as he fingered her. Two thick, calloused, fingers up her swollen, hot, aching channel. 

And so, she gave him more. “Just like that,” she said as his fingers curled and he hit that spot, the one that makes her even wetter, dripping even. The spot that makes her ache in the best way. The spot that makes her forget reason, forget any of her fears or inhibitions as he slips another finger back. Back to a place where it doesn’t usually play. 

“So. Damn. Good,” she gasped as he teased her, the nerve endings sparking, setting her skin even more on fire than before. “Keep doing that,” she ordered as he patiently waited until she relaxed enough to slip that third finger inside her, there. 

“You fill me so well,” her voice cracked as he slowly, surely, sent her over the edge, until she could feel her own heartbeat under her skin - everywhere - and she pulsed around his fingers, still inside her, not moving, just riding out the waves, her body going into aftershocks once he eventually pulled out. 

...

He likes her voice, but he likes her praise more, she’s figured out. But tonight she hasn’t given it to him and she knows that’s gotten under his skin. That’s frustrated him. She knows that part of what he likes about her is that she lets him embrace his good side, his gentle side, sometimes. That she knows he’s more than his moniker, more than his recent choices. But tonight she needs something different. Something beyond the, “Thank you, ma’am,” he says all cocksure and grinning after he makes her come. 

She needs something frenzied and hair-pulling, face pushed into her pillow as she screams. She needs him to know that she accepts that side of him, too. Even if he goes to dark places that she’ll never quite understand. At least, not fully, though she likely gets it more than he’ll ever know. (But no, she’s gotta shake that away, past trauma has no place in her bed.) 

So she’s quiet as he slowly dismantles her with the gentle touch of his mouth. Because the more quiet she is, the harder he works, usually. And she’s playing for keeps tonight, she’s playing a harder game than she’s ever played in her life. If it goes well (and god _damn_ , she hopes it does) than he’ll know. Know that he can mark her as his and she’ll still let him in her window the next night, and the night after that, and...well, everybody knows how the saying goes. 

So her heart doesn’t race in fear that she’s pushed him too hard tonight, even though he pulls back and stares at her. His shirt off, jeans unbuttoned and pushed halfway down his hips. His stare doesn’t scare her with it’s black heat, pupils blown wide. (She thinks she can blow them even wider if she tries.) 

“Something I’m doing not working for you, ma’am?” He asks her with some menace to his grin, as if what he’s going to do next is _his_ idea, is _her_  punishment. 

He shrugs and steps back. Back until his calves hit the edge of the chair and he sits, jeans pushed to his ankles now, hand cupping the soft cotton of his briefs. “By all means. If you think you can do better than I can, _show me_.”

...

Which is how they get to where they are now. Her on the bed, legs open and on display, all glistening pink flesh, ready for him. Him on the couch, hand cupping his erection gently. Not rubbing or sliding along the hard length of it. Just watching and touching, pulse beating in his neck, his adams apple bobbing as he swallows every few seconds. 

It’s the hottest game of chicken she’s ever played in her life. 

Tracing her nipples with her nails, she can see his jaw clench as her skin puckers and raises and hardens even more. She teases herself to the point of pain, and then holds his stare as she plucks and pulls. She throws her head back, part show, part truth, as her legs open wider. 

She can feel the drip, drip down her inner thighs. She can smell her arousal, musky and sweet. 

“I’m not going to touch myself there,” she tells him, snapping her head back to watch as he gulps as the sound of her voice. “I’m saving that for you tonight. Fingers, cock, I’m not sure I care which. Either, both, I’m leaving that choice up to you. But I’m going to make myself feel so goddamn good, until you decide you want to join in the fun.” 

...

He lasts longer than she expected, working herself into a frenzy, her nails scratching her skin, marking herself until he breaks. And then it’s so fast, the way he flips her body, the way he slams into her from behind (and oh, fuck, he got that condom on quickly), fingers gripping her hair, her hips. She feels so full of him, as he’s careful not to push her face too hard into the pillow - still restrained, even as his pace is fast and hard. Turning her head so she can speak, her fingers grip her sheets as she presses back against him. 

“Yes, just like that,” she whispers. Loud enough that he can hear that she’s spoken, but not so much that he knows what she said. 

“What was that?” He growls (he actually fucking growls and it sends a shiver down her spine) as he pulls her hair and leans his torso closer to her body. 

It makes her want to sing, as her blood is thrumming with pleasure at his tight grip, at his closeness. “Yes, just like that,” she repeats, louder, more clear. 

And he rewards her with a swivel of his hips, a harder press into the mattress, until he’s covering her so completely. “Tomorrow in the shower,” she pants, “I’m going to see your marks on me, my own marks-” 

Her words cut off as he speeds up and she can barely catch her breath. Stretching her arms out, she releases her sheets and grips the slats of her headboard. Her body is tense and tight under his, and she knows that it’s close. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly she’s going to come, but then it’s been hours of teasing, for both of them, left to linger at the edges of arousal, that neither of them can wait much longer. 

“And. I’m. Going. To. Love. It.” She breathes out, her voice airy and broken as he punctuates each word with a hard pump of his hips until she swears that she sees stars. 

“You’re so good,” she says as he rides out her orgasm and he tenses behind her. “You’re so good,” she repeats, because she knows that’s what he’s waiting for. “You made me come so hard. Don’t you think it’s your turn?” 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

...

He’s still gone when she wakes up, as usual. But this time as she sinks underneath the warm water in her shower, she can feel her sore muscles and see the red lines from her own nails, she can feel the bruises forming at her hips. And he’s not there to soothe the ache that grows as her hands slide up and down her body. But she can do that well enough on her own. 

(He’s not here, but at least this time she feels like he’s left part of himself behind for her.) 


End file.
